by Nia Arthurs
Unravelling The Hitman
Nia Arthurs
First published in Belize, C.A. 2019
Copyright © Nia Arthurs
Cover Design: Oliviaprodesign
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published without a similar condition including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
(V1)
Get Another Sweet Love Story Free!
Hello there! As a special thank you for buying this e-book, I want to send you another one completely free of charge! You can get it by clicking below.
Direct Link: Click Me!
When you subscribe, I’ll also send you updates when new books like this are available. Happy Reading!
Disclaimer
Unravelling The Hitman has the use of American Sign Language within its pages. In order to give better ease of reading, they are not in true ASL format.
Contents
1. Deacon
2. Angel
3. Deacon
4. Angel
5. Deacon
6. Deacon
7. Angel
8. Deacon
9. Angel
10. Deacon
11. Angel
12. Deacon
13. Angel
14. Deacon
15. Angel
16. Deacon
17. Angel
18. Deacon
19. Angel
20. Deacon
21. Angel
22. Deacon
23. Angel
24. Deacon
25. Angel
26. Deacon
27. Angel
28. Deacon
29. Angel
30. Angel
31. Deacon
32. Angel
33. Angel
34. Deacon
35. Angel
36. Deacon
37. Angel
38. Angel
39. Deacon
40. Angel
41. Deacon
42. Angel
Epilogue
A Word From The Author
Also by Nia Arthurs
Sneak Peek
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
1
Deacon
The beach chair creaked as it accepted me into its arms. A gentle breeze stroked the fringes of the coconut trees like guitar strings, teasing a soothing melody from the fronds. Moonlight slipped past the clouds and spilled over the sand.
My gaze drifted to the Caribbean Sea a stone’s throw away. The waves were dark, quiet, lethal. Reminded me of myself seconds before a kill.
I tipped the bottle to my lips and drank deeply, enjoying the warm sensation that lingered in my throat as the brew went down. This moment, this… stillness, it was what I’d worked so hard for.
Solitude.
It meant more than money to me, more than diamonds, more than…
Rustling blared from the monitor at my elbow. My beer returned to the table with a thud and I twisted around. Lifting the screen that revealed footage of a dark bedroom, I adjusted the sound filters and studied the little bundle lying in his crib.
Reid rolled around some more before he ended up right back where he started, sleeping with his little bum pointing to the ceiling and his face squashed into the pillows.
I studied him a second longer to make sure his chest was pumping and then set the monitor away. That kid could sleep through a hurricane.
And he had.
We’d battled a storm last year, all on our own. I was scared Reid would put up a fuss. Lord knew, the moaning winds and the rain bashing against the roof of our villa had been enough to unsettle me.
But that little kid? He’d curled up in his bed and rested until the waves calmed and the storm had passed. He was brave like that. Took after me.
Satisfied that Reed was safe, I exchanged the monitor for my beer and planted my feet back on the stubby wicker table.
In the distance, the sea crashed against the shore. Frothing waves rushed the sand. I stared at the dark horizon, amused by the unpredictability of life.
If someone would have told me ten years ago that I’d be walking into my mid-thirties with a toddler, I would have laughed them straight to the barrel point of my gun.
My dream was—had always been—to buy myself a secluded little island and live out the rest of my days alone.
Two years ago, that dream had broadened slightly to make room for one more.
It often amazed me. Someone tiny enough to fit in the palm of my hand had me wrapped around his little finger.
At two years old, Reid had grown much bigger than my hand, but his hold on my stone-cold heart had gotten stronger.
I liked to think that my life started when his did. Sure, I used to walk, talk, and breathe, but I wasn’t alive. I felt nothing. In my line of work—no—in my previous line of work, attachments invited death. Betrayal was a given. I reveled in my numbness.
But Reid changed things.
I had something to live for.
Someone to protect.
He was both my greatest weakness and my strength.
I finished the beer and gripped its neck between my fingers. Swinging out of the chair, I plodded inside and slid the bottle into the crate near the kitchen where I kept the empty cans. My gaze slid over the room, taking notice of the shadows.
My two-story villa boasted an open-floor plan. Kitchen. Stainless-steel appliances. Basket of fruits. Gleaming island counter. Living room. Plush black sofa. The flat screen TV. Shag rug. To my left was a cramped office shielded by a small, hardwood wall.
There was nothing out of place as far as I could see.
With a nod, I turned away from the desk and took a step towards my bedroom when I heard a buzzing sound.
A phone.
Strange.
No one I knew would be calling this late.
I glanced down. Stuck a hand into my pocket. Pulled out my phone. It was the latest model… with a few ramifications for security. Camera privacy shutter. Single use key encryption password. I took no chances.
A cursory skim informed me that my phone was blank.
Had I imagined the sound?
No. I didn’t make such mistakes.
Alarm bells clanged in my head. My shoulders taunt, I spun and surveyed the room again, more carefully this time.
Insects chirped outside. A curtain fluttered with the breeze, the white cloth dancing like a ghostly finger beckoning ignorant men to their deaths.
My breathing slowed.
My body coiled.
I listened to the silence but heard nothing out of place.
Suddenly, the buzzing sounded again.
My eyes flitted to the office nook.
It was coming from there.
I advanced, my heartbeat slowing. The closer I drew to the desk, the more certain I became. A phone was going off, but it wasn’t the cell I used for business.
It was that phone. The one I didn’t need but always kept charged because, even though I’d said goodbye to that life, a tenuous string still held me bound.
I stopped in front of the custom-made mahogany desk. It curved into the wall, forming a short ‘L’. I’d commissioned it a year ago, after Reid started crawling all over the place and I realized I needed to move us both out of the bedroom so we didn’t drive each other crazy.
The carpenter, a local Rasta artist named Trevor, hadn’t asked any questions when I asked f
or the last drawer to be reinforced with steel and fitted with a touch pad and a charger.
I’d tipped him heavily for his discretion.
Tonight was the first time I’d opened that drawer in years.
My hands dove to the keypad and pressed the numbers to the code.
Reid’s birthday.
It was too simple. Too obvious.
Which was why I had another safety measure.
The drawer popped open, revealing a locked surface with a tiny keyhole. Pooling my hands beneath my T-shirt, I grabbed the chain I kept around my neck and slid it off.
The key on the end glistened in the silver moonlight, flashing me a smug look as if to say ‘I knew you’d come’.
My lips twitched into a frown.
The phone kept buzzing. The vibration seemed amplified as it danced against the metal sheets. My fingers tightened on the key. I slipped it into the lock, smooth as butter.
Whoever was phoning seemed determined. They weren’t taking a breath between calls now.
I paused before turning the key in the lock. My quiet life would be dismantled if I opened this drawer.
Should I?
In a fit of curiosity and… another emotion I refused to name, I opened the latch and plucked the phone out of the charger. It came loose with a pop.
I flipped the burner phone open and stared at the name parading on the screen.
Unknown.
Of course. The people who had access to this line wouldn’t want their number exposed.
I answered the call.
At first, there was silence.
Then a woman’s prim voice echoed over the line. “You answered.”
“Rhia.”
“Deacon. You have a job.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“I’ll send you the location.”
“You’re not going to ask how I’ve been?”
“I’ve never had the patience for small talk. I trust you’ll show?”
“I’m retired.”
“Then why did you answer my call?”
My lips clamped shut. She had a point.
“I understand your… situation.” She choked on the word. “And I arranged for a few days so you can make arrangements. Any objections?”
“You couldn’t find anyone else?”
“Is that a no?”
“It’s a question, Rhia.”
“One I’m not obligated to answer.”
“Who is it?”
She paused. “Does it matter?”
“No.” I answered immediately, honestly. Sentiments had no place in this line of work. And even if I had any hesitation, I knew that most targets had dirty hands. Warranted killings. It made the job easier to swallow.
“Good. We’re all set?”
I turned and glanced in the direction of Reid’s room. My heart was beating, from excitement, anticipation.
It would be so easy to slip back into that old skin. I could already feel the buck of the trigger as it held taunt against my finger. Could already sense the swell of anticipation that accompanied the moments before a hit. The smell of the metal and sweat. The taste of the wind.
But there was a good reason I’d walked away from that life. I was all the family Reid had in the world and I refused to put his future in jeopardy for a temporary high.
“Things have changed for me. I’m not taking risks the way I would before…”
“I know. Get it done quick and quiet.”
“Give me three days.” I hung up and flexed my fingers.
It was time to get back to work.
2
Angel
“Work it, ladies!” I snapped my fingers and laughed as my colleagues danced in front of the cabana where our group lounged.
Soca played from a small Bluetooth speaker. The rhythm swooped over the frolicking waves and joined the pelicans that squawked in harmony.
I dug my toes into the sand and bopped my head to the beat, enjoying the faint breeze that tickled my straight black hair.
Suddenly, the music warbled and then stopped.
My gaze landed on the principal who jumped out of her seat like a woman possessed and was slapping the life out of the speaker.
Poor thing.
The speaker, not my manic boss.
The thud of flesh against metal echoed in the stillness. With a strained smile, Principal Amy muttered, “I don’t know what’s wrong with this radio.”
The teachers standing to my left froze, each unsure if they should continue the presentation acapella or wait until the music resumed.
“I think it’s out of juice,” Ms. Jefferies, the Standard Three teacher, observed. She stood and brushed the sand off her ample behind. The grains still clung to her ebony buttocks that squeezed her tiny yellow thong like a lemon sucker.
With a shrug, she strode over to the speaker and held it up. The lights on the tiny machine were fading.
Groans of disappointment rippled from the crowd of tourists that had hovered around our cabana to join in the festivities. Men stood in Hawaiian shirts and khakis. Ladies sported sunburns and open-toed sandals.
“That’s it?” someone yelled.
The contestants glanced at each other and murmured, “What happened to the music?”
“Are we done?”
Principal Amy advanced and gestured to the teachers posing in front of the benches with a gallant sweep of her hand. “Give it up for Ms. Jones, Ms. Azuma, and Ms. Stacey for that lovely rendition of ‘Teachers Run The World’!”
The crowd of tourists politely clapped.
I cupped my hand and whooped. “Go, Ms. Jones!”
My fellow teacher and friend, Paulette Jones, winked at me.
Someone tapped my shoulder.
I glanced over and saw Mr. Humphries, the Standard Six math teacher, shooting heart eyes my way.
A pained smile was my only response.
Humphries grinned back. His heavy-set jowls jiggled and his desperate, near panting exuberance reminded me of an energetic bulldog.
Minus the drool, of course.
Brown eyes gleaming, he whispered, “I left a charger back at the rental. Do you mind going back with me to get it?”
“You two should totally do that,” Ms. Williams chimed, tossing her curly hair away from her face. She was the youngest among our staff and had the annoying habit of pairing male and female teachers together.
Unfortunately, she’d fastened her beady little eyes on the math teacher and me. Like a rabid pit-bull, she refused to let go.
Thanks to her encouragement, Mr. Humphries had been making moves. I’m talking random texts asking questions we both knew the answers to, staying back to help with yard duty and offering to drop me home after teacher-student meetings.
It was annoying, but I guess I couldn’t exactly blame him. I was the total package—beauty, brains and personality.
No, I didn’t fault Mr. Humphries for having good taste.
I blamed Ms. Williams for making him think he had a shot.
My eyes narrowed as I glared in her direction.
Nosey, little…
“What do you say, Angel?” Mr. Humphries rose and extended his hand, thick fingers spread.
I cringed and inched away from him. The math teacher was a nice guy. Cute—in a nerdy sort of way. Good with kids. Grew up in church. He checked most of the items on my proverbial list, but I just wasn’t into him.
And he seemed to be having a hard time picking up on that.
I hopped to my feet. “I’m sure I can borrow a charger from one of those shops.” Pointing to the colorful storefronts in front of the beach, I chuckled nervously. “Be right back.”
“Should I come with you?” Humphries cried desperately, almost tripping over the beach bag someone had on the floor in order to get to me.
“No.” I yelled, already on the move. “I’m good.”
The principal cleared her throat and spoke to cover the awkward pause. “While Ms. Tate does t
hat, I have something to say.”
I nodded in understanding and darted off, listening to her speech in the background.
“This weekend retreat was a much-needed break for our beloved teachers. I know how hard you work everyday, checking papers and making posters…” Principal Amy’s voice grew fainter as I ran.
Everywhere I turned was a snapshot of paradise. Children laughed as they played volleyball beneath the shade of the coconut trees. Couples walked hand-in-hand, dressed in swimsuits, faces carved with permanent grins.
I noticed a street artist selling his wooden souvenirs and made a mental note to return and check out his art. My mother loved collecting little knickknacks from all over the country and, with my dad being sick… well, she could use something to cheer her up.
Before I crossed the road, I turned to check behind me. I wouldn’t put it past Mr. Humphries to hijack the golf cart and come charging.
Thankfully, the coast was clear.
I let out a deep breath and bent down, grabbing my knees to keep myself from keeling over. It had been a while since I’d run that hard and fast. My preferred exercise was crunches… the kind that happened when I had to stretch from the couch to the coffee table for the remote.
Metabolism had kept me slim, but my mother often warned that good genes wouldn’t hold me in forever.